


A fair bit of leeway

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [62]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Don't Starve (Video Game), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Steven Universe (Cartoon), The Good Place (TV), World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Minor collection of uncomplete/discontinued crossovers that never went anywhere or amounted to anything.
Series: DS Extras [62]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Blood Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Not going to give any context to all this besides the fact that...crossovers can be fun to waste ones time on...that's all.

_“...Oh, don't you worry. Whatever happens… You may think it all a mere bad dream.”_

***

The table jerked, scraped the floor as he jolted awake, every nerve on fire as he flailed off to collapse into a heap on the floor. The dark air was thick with iron, whirled headily about his senses and he could still feel them, those little hands, cold tiny hands grappling for purchase all over him-

The next breath of air he took was deeper, chest aching and burning still, throbbing hot pain, and William sat on the dirtied floorboards, table at his back and feeling confused and overwhelmed and trembling with faded agony.

His heart was pounding in his chest, as if to jump straight out, rip its way out in stuttered, uneven thumps that made his limbs tremble, and he shakily placed a hand to his chest, sucking in another breath of air and trying to steady himself.

It was dark, very dark, only the faintest of lights, but every breath seemed to be helping, anchoring him as his senses became more stabilized, quieted.

It still felt as if fire was in his veins, a numbing burn that crawled its way up and down his back, curled about his arms and pooled in his chest, but it was manageable, now, he could manage this. The shoddy bandages wrapped about his arms were soaked through, dirtied, but looking down at them William couldn't tell if all that could even be just his blood, drenched and splattered as it was. The itching burn was about his wrists, and he hesitated on peeling the bandages back, just the faintest of prodding sending jitters of pain straight to his brain, and he instead curled his arms close, pressed one hand to the other wrist as the pain dragged, slowed, faded ever so slightly.

Though his very body ached, the low buzz of burning, sharp pins and needles, William found that for the most part he was uninjured. His clothing was dark, heavy leather and cloth, but it was foreign garbe and he hissed in another breath at the thought that he hadn't been wearing these before now.

...He couldn't remember what exactly he had worn, but these were not his. He was certain of that.

Carefully, wheezing at the flickers and waves of lapping pain easing their way from his chest, William slowly wavered up to a stand, using the table as aid. The moment he got his feet was the moment he recognized the cold stickiness on his hands and he flinched away from the blood coating the steel, almost tripping as he staggered back. The taste of the air made sense now, horrible shivering sense, and William shuddered as the dream, the nightmare, terror, came back to him-

_-glowing eyes, huge slitted glowing eyes, feral and drooling and monstrous fangs and long, bony, broken claws dragging forward, the guttural growls and gurgling groans as the beastal thing heaved itself towards him, blood soaking its fur and pooling in crimson clots all about its feet, seeping through the floorboards as it reached for him-_

_-and then-_

_-there was fire-_

_-and so many cold little hands, cold empty eyes-_

But the spot where the blood had sloshed and puddled, had grown in his nightmare, the memory and taste on the back of his tongue, was clear. There was blood on the table, splatters all about, but no lake of oozing ichor.

Nor the remains of a charred, ashen corpse. Whatever that thing had been, it wasn't here anymore. Or had even been here to begin with.

So much blood in the air was making him dizzy, the smell thick and clotted and sending his stomach into twists and turns, and the imagining of that horror was leaving him reeling. He almost toppled into another table, this one strewn with papers, the flashes of seeing cabinets and medicinal supplies and books becoming one mess of a haze, and his guts curled inside him and William felt like he was going to be sick.

The room was spinning about him, dark and filled with the scent of blood, a cloying cloud, and William realized that he had to get out.

Right now. He had to get out, right now, right-

Stumbling forward, almost tripping again, and there was a door against his hands, pushing and then shoving it as William gasped for air, the thick air giving him no help, no reprieve. It tasted of sickness, of pain, heavy blood and death in here, and it felt as if he couldn't even draw in a clean breath to steady himself.

The door wasn't locked, swung easy and almost flinging him forward, the steps down making everything all the more twisted and dizzy, and William didn't even have time to get his feet sorted underneath him before pitching forward.

It wasn't a long flight, was short and simple, but the little air in his lungs was gasped out as his back hit the steps on the way down, tumbling head over heels before landing with a heavy thump of sound. For a moment his vision flashed dark, buzzing, face down against the floorboards, trying to gag in another breath of the air knocked out of him.

Lying still, chest aching even more as the fall caught up with him, dull pain blooming in his limbs and bruising forming painfully from all points, William finally, shakily, pushed himself to his knees. Each breath was ragged, stuttered, but the blood seemed lessened now, he couldn't taste it thick on his tongue.

Blinking blurrily, squinting in the dark, and William felt a faint buzz of apprehension as he raised his hands to his face, arms shaking as he hoped the fall hadn't-

But no, his glasses were fine. The fact he even had them gave him pause, shaky breathing evening out as he carefully slid them from his face and had a look at them, careful to not touch the lenses. With the fact that his clothing was not his, William had been afraid that these could have been replaced as well.

They seemed as how he remembered them, not even a scratch misplaced or dent misremembered. 

His moment of distracted peace came to an end, a loud crash and shuffle jerking his attention back to the dark room he was in, and ahead was an opening to another, larger looking chamber. The noises continued a moment, the sharp shattering of glass and heavy objects thumping to the side, and then it quieted down once more. 

William slowly got to his feet, pushing his glasses back up to their proper place, shaking and left over terror rekindling, and the unknown of this whole situation has more than already gotten to him. Awaking from a nightmare, arms coated in bloody bandages and sitting in a dark, unfamiliar room, alone, was terrifying enough.

But now that he knew something else was here, with him, William didn't know which he'd rather prefer. 

The silence was tense, nerve wracking, and held for all too long as he trudged over, arms circling protectively over his chest as he leaned out. The room didn't open up in front, turned left instead, and cabinets, bookcases, shelves adorned the walls, tables cluttered high with books and papers and glass objects, stains of black and brown and red about the floor. The quiet continued as he looked about, squinting in the darkness, the cooler air damp and almost dusty.

It couldn't be said that William wasn't afraid, of going out farther from where he had awoken. But he couldn't stay right here either. Whatever the reason he was here now, the fact that his memory was betraying him with a thin veil of blankness, nothing he remembered added up to him being right here, right now, but…

He _can't stay here._

Taking a steady breath of the musty air, steeling his nerves, William curled his hands into fists and practically tip toed out into the next room.

It was still hard to see, still so dark, but for a moment the air seemed to clear and William almost was able to forget what blood smelled like, only chemicals and the sharp tang of medicinally inclined scents.

And then he rounded the corner, keeping close to the laden tables and trying to not trip up on anything, and the wave of iron hit his nose and back of his throat and William almost stumbled back in horror.

There was a _thing_ , big and dark and grotesque, disjointed limbs splayed out and massive jaws lined with shining fangs, blood and slobber leaking from it with every breath, the glow of its eyes not trained upon him, not like in his dream, no, but upon what looked to be a corpse of a man-

William took a shaky step back, then another, legs going weak and stomach twisting into knots for a second time since he woke up, and he felt ever so sick. 

The creature bent its head down, tongue lolling out to swipe across the man's head, over dirty hair to flick drool onto the bloodstained floorboards, lips curling into a snarl before opening wide, wider than William thought possible, and then took the man's head into its maw and-

William jerked back, not able to tear his eyes away as it audibly crunched, tore through flesh and scraped broken bone into a mess that flowed from its jaws in shattered, gloppy pieces, and the monster made a sound almost like a hum of sorts, raising a paw to push the corpses shoulders down before tugging back. Its fur bristled up, hackles rising, stiff in dried blood, bits of bandaging tied tight to its gangly limbs, and it practically purred as it chomped through more of the corpse, more sloshing coats of blood to the already soaked floor, stripped flesh and the heady heat of exposed organs.

The smell got worse, hotter and thick, and William was shaking, trembling as he took another step back.

He couldn't help it, at the sight, the morbid violent mess of it all, the shock of the visual contact, so sudden and jarring and all too much. The noise from his throat was a quiet whimper, horrified and panicked and wheezed, hoarse in the sudden flush of fear and cold twisting nausea in his belly, but even so quiet it was too much.

The beasts ears flicked, a shake of its mane of bristled gunked up fur, and then its head pulled up, glowing sharp eyes trained upon his trembling form. The slather of blood and drool and grey matter dropped from its lips, it's dark jagged maw, and then the creature drew itself up in a heave, arms and massive paws spreading wide, and it _screamed_.

The sound was worse than the sight itself, disjointedly human and yet monstrous in all forms, and William hardly even processed it before realizing that he was already scrambling back, running.

He didn't even make it to the doorway before it pounced upon him.

The dull pains of his fall, of having woken up with burning raw blood, was so much lesser in comparison now. Claws pinned to his shoulders, shoved him down as the crashing weight threw itself fully upon him, and it took only a twitch of those paws for his back to explode in agony, blood from his shoulders as he hit the ground hard.

For a moment he struggled, tried to push himself up, to claw at the floorboards himself, anything to get away, and then there was hot heated breath on the back of his neck, wet cool saliva flecked on his foreign clothing and skin, and then the weight on him grew heavier, worse, a grinding sharp shot of pain as its massive legs kicked-

Something audibly snapped, a sudden jerk of agony, a wave of numbing confused signals to his brain, and he couldn't do this, this couldn't be happening-

The growl above him almost sounded like laughter, a chuckle of guttural gagging noise, and the talons clawed into his shoulders only tightened, blood pooling about him and soaking the jagged wooden floorboards, and this was all too much, it was-

One of the weights on his shoulder lessened, mind swimming in a dull fog of pain, the smell of blood in the air, _his own blood_ , the stench of the thing as it breathed upon him, and he felt the drag of the claws as they suddenly laid upon his head, curled ever so slightly, the monsters taloned hand so much bigger, rougher and heavy, and the hiss of a whimper from him was equal parts involuntary and consciously made, its heavy weight shifting against his spine, completely unperturbed by his weak struggles.

There was pressure, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried once more to push himself up, vainly fight against the things monstrous weight, and its heaved breath was panting hot, drool oozing across his neck, and the pain intensified, sharp cracks and shivers from up his spine and the dull grinding against his head, the claws clenching close to scrape his face as the beast heaved another wet breath, listening to his shallow wheezes of pain as it shoved his head against the stained floorboards.

The agony intensified a moment longer, heartbeat pounding in his chest and feeling the splinters under his nails as he weakly clawed at the floor, foggy and gasping and his head felt as if it would explode, talons starting to dig in all too close to his eyes-

And then it let off, claws leaving his face for a mere moment.

William had the time to blink open his eyes, heaving for breath against the weight pressed too much atop him, sight blurry and vision flashing white and black as the waves of pain started to fizzle, a moment where the shivering shock of it all rendered him limp and numb. And then there was a huff of a growl, a sudden shift, and-

-teeth, scraping close-

-about his neck-

-sharp, sharp, _sharp_ pain, the stench of his own blood-

-and then a-

_**-snap.** _

***

For a long few moments, William was fairly certain he was dead.

It was dark, and cold, and not much else. The...faint hint of teeth about his neck was gone, and so was any of the leftover pains of what had happened.

And...and what had happened, exactly?

It took a moment to recognize the taste and smell of dirt against his face. 

With that, William realized that he still had his eyes closed and was, in fact, not very dead. Or, at least lacking any giant gashes about the throat.

Carefully he pushed himself up, sitting, squinting for a moment before automatically taking his glasses off to try and swipe the dirt away, and after that he found himself somewhere else once again.

This time he remembered, however. The image of that beast was not going to leave his mind anytime soon. 

But this...wasn’t some dark, bloody place. It was sort of surprising, actually, and William sat there in the dirt for a few minutes, blinking at the flowers and old stones all about him, a soft breeze and far cleaner air, and debated on if he had actually died.

He stood up slowly, carefully, his legs feeling weak and ever so slightly nauseous, but nothing like before. Even now the memory of it seemed to fade, grow weak, just the barest of remembered aches and pains. He couldn't taste blood on his tongue anymore, the air far too clean, and his clothing didn't even carry a hint of that monsters stench.

But it still wasn't his clothing. The dark garbe sat heavy on his shoulders, odd and not at all what he was used to, pushing the hood back and catching sight of the bloody bandages once more.

They didn't look so bad, now that he had a clearer light. Looking at them now, there was a faint sting in the back of his mind and William remembered, he remembered-

_-”Good. All signed and sealed. Now let's begin the transfusion.”-_

-the faintest of images, blurry and confusing, of someone else looming over him, but then it faded to black and William found himself empty headed once more. Pressing a hand to his forehead, hissing in a tense breathe, William heaved a sigh as it escaped him.

He hardly remembered what had happened to bring him here, and not to mention the blanks that encompassed everything else. He felt as if he should remember _something, anything_ really, a place or object or name-

_Charlie-_

William stiffened, held his breath for a moment as it dawned upon him that he _did_ remember something. He remembered _Charlie._

How could he have even forgotten? The thought left him feeling guilty and ashamed, reeling a bit as the faintest of memories came back to him, and with that William took a steadying breath of air and tried to not scream in frustration.

Where was she? Was she safe? Had she been back in that, that nightmare of sorts? Had that even been real in the first place?

It had certainly felt real, and William rubbed his neck and throat for a moment, grimacing from the odd disconnect his mind was telling him of, remembering the teeth and blood but finding no pain whatsoever.

The thought that she might have had a similar nightmare like that, something so horrifyingly shocking, was almost too much.

William closed his eyes, pressed his palms to them as he tried to steady himself, tried to figure this out. Nothing made sense and he's never handled being lost very well in the past-

For a brief second, he almost remembered something. The faint memories of a, a _train?-_

And then it was gone again. It was almost maddening, how he just could not remember a damn thing besides that horrible nightmare.

But, what he had to do now was...was…?

_Find Charlie._

Or at least figure out where he was and go to where he had...been beforehand? If he couldn't remember the where, then how was he supposed to do anything at all?

Letting out a heavy breath, wheezing ever so slightly, the stress still compressed into his chest, William opened his eyes to his new odd surroundings. 

Whatever he did now, he couldn't just wait. He had to-

_Find Charlie-_

-and get somewhere familiar. He couldn't let this faint wave of panic overtake him, not here, not in this strange place.

He had to find someone. Perhaps they could offer directions?

Finally getting his bearings, legs still shaky but not as dizzy, more feeling himself again, William steeled his nerve and made himself focus.

Unfortunately, the first thing he found himself squinting at was the faint form of something collapsed down ahead of him. And it looked all too human.

The faint shock and fear of the past monster held him frozen for a mere moment before he jerked himself out of it, hurriedly walking over, thoughts of someone hurt or injured running through his head-

But his steps slowed in front of it, stopped altogether, and William found himself staring at what appeared to be a rather life sized doll. 

It lay there, limp, spread as if placed there by someone who cared for it, and from a distance and with his bad eyes it had looked so life like, enough to cause him the shock that it had. Closer up he could see the ball joints, seams and almost porcelain face, eyes closed, and its clothing was lace and designed and almost dainty, dressed up in dark, somber colors.

William hesitated about it, looked around a moment to see if anyone was indeed nearby, this was obviously someone's property, but nothing stood out besides the gravestones and an odd empty bird bath nearby. The flowers hung heavy all about, taken care of and yet growing everywhere in huge bushes, and there was no sign of any presence besides the worn paths lined with stone crisscrossing about.

There was, however, a building uptop the hill. William stared at it, looked to the doll and the rest of the empty, silent landscape, seeing now the grave markers popping up everywhere and the fenced gate behind him, closing off the rest of it, and realized that he must be in a cemetery.

Maybe he was, in fact, very dead and also a ghost. The thought did not comfort him in the slightest.

Looking back at the doll, William frowned, feeling a bit queasy with unease and barely kept down panic. The more he took in of this place, the less he thought of it as “safe”.

But so far it had no monstrous beast or the smell of thick blood. He...he had to be grateful for that, right?

“I...I don't suppose you can tell me where I am?” Said with a tense, almost wheezed chuckle, and William clasped his hands, fought the urge to fidget, the almost embarrassment rising in his chest.

The doll, as expected, gave no answer. Just sat as still as it had when he had first seen it, and William sighed. The horrible monster from his dream may have seemed real, but the doll was only life like, nothing more.

Still, for just a moment, hesitating a second, William did stretch out his hand to lightly tap its cheek, slow and nervous but not enough to deter him. It didn't sit up, or smack his hand away or anything of the sort really, so he chalked that up to relief and pulled away quickly.

“Sorry.” The apology was out of his mouth and William winced, now glad that no one was actually around. He felt paranoid, and a bit stupid, but the doll was just that.

A doll, nothing more.

But the fact that he could not see anyone around didn't mean he was truly all alone. The house up there was dark, quiet, but it didn't look abandoned. Someone might be up there.

William didn't feel much comfort from the thought, but even a complete stranger could help him.

Or, could have kidnapped him and dumped him here to be ruthlessly tortured-

And at that he stopped himself, sucked in as deep of a steady breath as he possibly could, and started his way up the path and its stone steps. He couldn't let himself over think things into paranoid circles; he might just go mad from that!

Charlie always helped him with that, steadied him when he got all twisted up in nervous anxiety. He hoped she was okay, wherever she was.

The door was closed up, big and wooden and looking old and worn but not like the place before, with that smell of overuse and clotted pain. Hesitating only a moment, William laid his hand upon it, and tried to organize himself.

Someone must be around, right?

He knocked, four taps, not especially loud but almost ringing in the silence around him, and with that William stood back and waited.

No one answered.

No other sound echoed forth either, nothing at all besides his semi shaky breaths and nervous fidgeting. 

He hesitated, the silence getting to him, closing in with its windless, empty gloom, and after a moment William raised his hand to knock, four times, again.

There was no answer, as before. Perhaps he was wrong in thinking someone was, indeed, around?

But the doll…

Or maybe it was, ah, their day off! Maybe whoever owned this place just did not work here for this day, or perhaps it wasn't the right time for them to arrive, or-

William shut his eyes, took in a deep breath, and sat himself down on the steps. Who was he kidding?

He was alone, here, had no idea where Charlie was, and honestly had no idea what was even happening around him. The hows and whys and wheres were circling in his head with a horrible nagging sensation, and he put his head into his hands and tried to, tried to think of something, _anything_ besides the fear and panic that was building in his chest.

He couldn't let himself fall into hysterics out here! He had to, had to...find a way out, that is what he should do!

William sat there for a moment, held his breath and counted to five, almost reached ten before he had to breathe again, shallow and fighting the mind numbing panic creeping through him, and made himself pull up into a shaky wobbled stand.

He had to be critical about this, he had to be focused, and he couldn't just give up then and there! So what if he was alone and had no idea where he was or why? So what if there was a creepy large doll down the steps and this was certainly a cemetery and he had just woken up from a nightmare where he had died? 

...it was actually freaking him out more just listing it all, and his heart was pounding painfully in his chest and he felt light headed, shivery, but William turned once more to the door and made himself take another deep, shaky breath, making an attempt at being steady.

He raised a hand, knocked one more time, and made himself count to ten, then fifteen, twenty, as he waited for an answer, making himself stay still, no fidgeting, no distracting himself, _focus._

As expected at this point, there was no answer.

William pushed away his worries on it, and finally made himself try the door handle.

The fact that it was locked gave him a shuddery pause, stiffening and taking another panic laced breathe, before he took a step back and attempted to calm his inner thoughts, all panicked and jumping around, trying to quiet himself.

It was locked, so no one was here, and he couldn't get in. For a second, he almost, almost considered forcing entry, to try and ram it open, but then he quickly shut down the very thought.

William couldn't just damage someone's property like that! He wasn't a criminal, no matter his scared intentions!

And that was even if he had the physical capabilities for it. William knew he wasn't quite the fittest of people.

With a heaved sigh, fighting the fringes of panic edging up over his willpower, another breath of the chill air and doing his very best to not truly focus on the fact that he was alone, William slowly turned around.

And found that, no, he was wrong. He wasn't alone here.

Gaping empty eye sockets stared up at him, faded glowing dark pinpricks, and he froze up as the gathering of them swayed and leaned side to side, thin feeble arms reaching and raising out to vaguely motion towards him, and their quiet stirrings were increasing, mumbled quiet sounds that he could almost, almost understand. The mobs of them were risen from the ground, the cracked stone of the stairs, fringed by swirling fog and glowing clouds, and every single one of them stared up at him, all intune, all focused.

William couldn't move, forgot to breath a moment, throat closing up as he tensed, as the dream came back, the dream before the dream, of the beast and the fire and then the crawling little hands, the same as the solid creatures watching him now. 

He almost wavered in thinking that, perhaps if he ignored them, that they were not real, only a product of imagination, his stress and this unfamiliar environment finally cracking him down under the pressure.

But then their little voices, gravel and incomprehensible whispers, rose up in drawls, some leaning forward to drag their bony little hands against stone, rake the dark earth and tug at the grass and weeds poking through, and even more pushed and shoved against each other, rapping their knuckles on the steps, sound as if a clearing of the throat. All turned heads, all eyeing him and tilting their faces, and even in their disfigurement William had the distinct feeling that they were...curious, about him.

It made a shiver scrawl its way up his spine, enough to make the air rush his lungs and him to sway as he realized, well and truly, that these creatures were very real and very much right in front of him.

Or, perhaps he has gone mad. The possibility of the thought startled him a moment, a spark of fear, and he quickly shoved the idea out of his head. 

He was not mad. 

Even if he was now being accosted by bony pale gremlin abominations that seemed to have dug their way to the surface. 

William assured himself that he was completely sane, even as he watched one lose interest in staring at him and instead started to poke another's misshapen head, thin little hands flailing to slap at each other. He had not lost his mind.

And unbidden thought slipped its way through his brain, _not yet anyway_ , and then was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

They swayed together, the lot of them, tilting heads and empty, so very empty eye sockets, and their little hands waved and poked and prodded, but little else. Stuck into the ground, held fast and obscured by thick, unnatural fog, and William finally, finally sucked in a breath of air, light headed and drawn thin, insides tight like a coil. He was not mad, and the things arisen from the ground were certainly there, staring, watching him, and the odd leather that now clothed him hardly moved from the faintest of breezes, only the hint of goosebumps a chill up his spine to grace him.

It took a long few moments, a dawning understanding of what he saw, before William realized that their little hands were _waving_ to him. Tiny, pale, and passive, not at all threateningly, gesturing as if to draw him closer to their trapped forms.

A part of him was pricked with tight suspicion, paranoia, but it was much too sudden, this blank veil of what had to be reality, and with that William blankly shuffled his way a bit closer to the lot of them.

Staring down, those glowing lights set so emptily in shrunken heads, and their tightly wrapped skin made the movement of bone and tendons almost nauseating, gritting his jaw as another wave of lightheadedness hit him all too hard, but William forced himself to stay still, to keep still.

He was not mad, these were real things, and he was stuck seemingly alone in a cemetery.

Oh, and Charlie was missing. He couldn't let himself forget that.

Before his now rather fragile mindset could descend even further down the spiral, the ghastly beings suddenly started to move as one.

They all shifted, arms reaching out, then down, underneath the blanket of miniature foggy clouds bunched about their sunken bodies, and William watched as they held out a perfectly fine scroll to him, neat and polite.

He stared, blinked, felt simultaneously sick to his stomach and completely, utterly empty of everything and anything, and it took a moment for the thoughts to jumpstart him.

_I have to find Charlie._

And just like that, William had his resolve solidified and he gingerly reached down, hovering over the messengers, and took their offered words.

***


	2. Staked Phoenix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was intended to be a "rewrite" of the first chapter, so any inconsistencies were not totally unintentional.

_The flames and smoke were getting thicker, headier, hotter. Boiling blood, and the beasts screams._

_Willow smiled._

***

The screech from the bridge almost made William lose his grip on the ladder.

He clung to it for the moment, rust and dirt and blood crusted on the metal, sticking to the bandages still wrapped tight about his hands and wrists, and looked off into the orange red night.

Flames, heavy smoke signals, and the whole city itself looked almost consumed, the very sky set afire. The air was hot and tasted of thick blood, the low yowling of monstrosity and human alike off in the distance, and this had to be the worst day to have ever happened to William.

He couldn't even compare it to another day of his life; everything was a foggy blank ever since he had woken up.

There were corpses strewn about behind him, below the ladder, and the cane on his hip was still covered in wet blood.

The wind whipped up, brought even more hot smoke and the smell of charring flesh and curdled blood, and William winced as he shut his mouth tight, breathing shallowly from his nose and holding to the ladder like a lifeline. It was almost as if he could taste the blood, on his tongue and roof of his mouth, and it sent a shiver of revulsion through him, feeling sick.

He had woken up to the smell of blood, and now it was everywhere.

The thought that, that _Charlie_ could be out here, with these horrors, was almost too much to bare. It was the only thing that kept him going, the sheer thought of her trapped in this terrible place, and he couldn't for the life of him run away from that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

_-he had tried to call out, waved to the man he had caught sight of passing around the downed carriage, was still taking big shuddery breathes and still felt blood splattered on him from that, that monster in the clinic-_

_-there was a torch in the man's hands, something else in the other, William couldn't quite make it out, and the cane he still had a tight grip on felt as if it burned, the memory still fresh of frantically hitting that beast in a desperate, blind bid to get away-_

_-and for a moment he almost thought he had found his salvation-_

_-and then the man had, had **roared-**_

The axe wound on his side was just a graze, but it had ripped the foreign garbe he was in and still bled, still stung, and he had tried, William had tried to speak to the man, had tried to make him _see sense-_

But the flames of the torch had gotten too close, and it was automatic, to flail back with panic yells.

The snap of the cane, the odd mechanical spring clicking with sparks, and the slice of the air, a sharp sound as the whip had cut through his attackers throat-

It was only afterwards, still sitting where he had fallen, hand pressed to his bleeding side and panting and feeling a horrifying mix of thoughts and emotions, at the thought of him being a _murderer, he had killed someone-_

-that he noticed how grostique and wrong the corpse now looked, twisted and bristled and fanged.

This place was, was…

William shook himself out of it, grit his teeth and turned back to climbing up the ladder, another whipping of the smoke tinged wind, heavy with iron and distant screams.

Charlie could be out here, and he wouldn't stop until he found her.

He was the one to bring them into this mess, he was the one to get them both out of it, and, and he didn't care what he had to do to do it!

If anyone had hurt Charlie, then he'd, he'd-!

William didn't even know what he'd do, but it made him sick even thinking about it. The fact that he was still covered in blood, both man and beast, wasn't helping him either.

Scaling the top of the ladder, limbs aching and side stinging and everything hurting more than he had ever thought possible, William's hands shook and he didn't know if it was because of his left over fear or the sliver of anger twisting in his chest.

He remembered he had come here for help, Charlie and him, the both of them. The thought, memory of it felt odd, as if not fully there, but it was the only thing William could fully think of right now. This place was supposed to _help_ them.

The landing the ladder had taken him to was thronged with buildings, more smoke filling the few bits of horizon he could see above the roofs, and a dim lantern sat in front, dull and almost out of place. The way split, one an opened gate, wide open to his left, the right stair steps down, and another lantern, glowing darkly red, almost pink in glow, caught his eye. The window behind it had thick bars, as if to protect what was inside, and so far from what he's seen William was sure that was on purpose.

It was daunting, to have the realization that this place was so big. Charlie could be anywhere, and all those monsters, beasts…

William shook himself out of it, hand lighting on his cane, trying to ignore the blood caked on the bandages, trying to ignore the sting in his side and the pain from taking every breath, trying to ignore everything but what was important.

He had his moment in the clinic, waking alone with the air stinking of blood. The faint nightmare, of claws and teeth at his throat, and then waking amongst the flowers and silence for those few short moments, was already fading. The cane had been by his side after, and it was odd, to know what to expect around the next corner, the dream a reality as the beast had ripped apart the corpse before it's glowing eyes landed upon him.

It was dead now, he assured himself, even though he hadn't stuck around long enough truly. A few smacks at its head, blood as it hit the floor with a gurgle, the crushed visceral look of its smashed eye and skull before he had turned tail and ran outside, confused and full of too much panic, terror-

But he was here now, past it, past the raving men below, and the thought _murderer_ was clinging in his head but William couldn't let himself dwell, not right now, not until he found her.

He couldn't let himself fall apart. The thought of finding her was the only thing keeping him sane right now, focusing on this goal as to not think of what was really going on, this night of madness and blood thick in the air-

He wouldn't look at the vials on his pockets, even though he had stuffed them away because something in the back of his brain had told him to. The viscous liquid inside, staining the glass and looking horridly thick, horridly crimson, was enough of a warning.

After a moment, steeling his resolve, swallowing the lump in his throat and quelling every want, _need_ , to run away and hide and never look back, throw the cane away and the vials and strip this horrid blood sticky clothing off of him, get away, get away, far away-

Pushing it all away, making himself think of, of Charlie, he had to find her-

William made his way over to the lantern, the slightest of limps as pain arched up his side and down his leg.

A sound stopped him just before he could reach for it, curiosity and an odd, thin calling to its light.

Coughing, hacking and rasped and almost pained, and William found himself raising his head to look to the window, to the dark glowing lantern set so close to its walls.

There was a voice, rising up as his steps announced his presence, and the thick curtains inside prevented any visibility but they twitched a moment, as if a hand had passed over them.

_“Another hunter, is it? So many outsiders have come on this unfortunate night, haven't they?”_ the man inside said, wheezing on his breath, and William flinched back a moment, hand grabbing his cane for a brief, instinctive second. _“You look pale. Confused, right? That's everyone these days…”_

_“You are looking for Paleblood, like the rest of them, aren't you?”_

_“Even like this, I can help. Don't you worry, hunter; you shall see the morning come.”_

***

There was smoke, thick dark clouds, rising from the streets and staked out bonfires, heavy in the sky but not enough to obscure the moon just yet. The night was being beaten back by orange and red, flickering lights and the glow of the city itself.

It was a miracle that no house had caught aflame as of yet.

Coughing from the smoke, stumbling up the stairs through the home he had inadvertently found a way into, William tried the wave the bad air away and squinted as he finally reached the top step. 

The house behind him was...not very comforting, to be honest. There was no fire, only smoke and ash pouring down from up here, and it was a side route, or maybe just a different path? Either way, William still felt queasy from going through, stumbling around and tripping over furniture and other miscellaneous objects.

A part of him was trying to not consider that some of those obstacles might have been human in nature. There had been a wheelchair he had stumbled into, but it had been thankfully empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this crossover would have been fun to continue, but I just never got back around to it :/


	3. Daemon shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is from 3 years ago, and probably shows. Minor Maxwil in it, though it never got developed.

Wilson P. Higgsbury's daemon was a toad. A very large, rather dull colored Cane toad.

She didn't talk much, never nearly as much as he did, only the barest of whispers, the quiet exchanges of whose eyes were upon him now, who was watching who, the newest of gossips and rumors that spread behind his back in the university, and even when he had been much younger, the elementary schools playgrounds crowded with watchful daemons and their narrow spirited children. When he had been younger he had held her close, the fat toad held fast in his much smaller fists, those slimy eyes able to stare and watch far more than he ever could get the nerve to. He used to have the hardest of times, making eye contact with peers, and during that slow crawl of growing up Wilson's daemon was the one to take that mantle instead.

When she did talk, outside of the whispers she gave to him in private, there was a thicker accent, enunciated by a slimy rough drawl, deeper, not once cracking or pitching unsuspectingly like his own, and he couldn't count the number of times he's seen surprise flash on the face of those his daemon wished to speak to. It wasn't quite all that often, to find someone with such varying differences to their other half, but Wilson has never put much thought into those sorts of studies.

There were already so many out there, researching the connection of daemon to person, and vice versa, and in all reality he found it to not be all that invigorating truly. The logic of deamonology was not lost upon him, but there were certain sciences that he felt were far more important. His attention, even when he had been young, could funnel into pinpoint focus if he found what he wished to see into, and at the end of the day dismantling the old grandfather clock was far more interesting than puzzling the bond between himself and Winnie.

But, whispers and puffs of air was not all she did, no, not at all. He's heard the hissing, low threatening trills, bubbled croaks and wheezed toad screams, and she'd stand up on her tiptoes, suck in air and billow up in barely contained anger, and then he'd be sweeping her up and hiding her away, wrapped up in a towel or blanket, fighting her wiggling struggles, stowing her away in a bag or even a big enough pocket, anything to dispel the looks on other peoples faces. Even muffled she'd buzz angrily, a rumbling cloud that threatened to choke him up as her frustrations caught to him, perhaps vice versa. Scorned was the anger of a fat toad.

Wilson always apologised for her outbursts, but her anger always leeched into him afterwards and he found it harder to keep himself polite when that happened. Public company was especially difficult to navigate; his daemons oddities of appearance and silence were always conversation starters at his parents parties.

Wilson was quite glad of at least one thing in this place; no more social parties.

The dying thing wasn't all that great, but at least he did not have to dress up or apply protective measures onto his daemon. Winnie never liked it when he had to cover her up or keep her wrapped; she'd never poison him, impossible to even do it on accident, but if anyone or their daemon laid hands on her without warning then they were in for a nasty surprise. His parents had been very unhappy the first time someone's daemon started showing signs of poisoning at a party; the dog had been too excited, had mouthed and licked Winnie and ignored Wilson's stuttered warnings even as their partner encouraged the attention and tried to talk to Wilson about some business matter or other, practically bowling him over with their excited ramblings.

(He hadn't liked the feeling Winnie was getting from being licked by a very slobbery daemon, had sent a terribly uncomfortable shiver down his spine, and he had to excuse himself later due to the rather sudden urge to go vomit in an unoccupied toilet.)

Winnie trilled quietly in his lap, eyes closed and relaxed as the fire crackled and popped. It was good, a relief even to see her be able to rest undisturbed again, and Wilson kept still, one hand holding her belly and the other cushioning against her side, allowing the large daemon to nestle in between his shirt and his arm, soft stomach protected by his hand.

The last few weeks have been hectic, and the machine was taking such a long while to build.

Wilson looked out to his side, at the unfinished arch that rose in the sunsets orange and pink highlights. The cyclopean eye rested high above, still and silent and unpowered; the gems were needed for that particular system.

Maxwell was to find those pieces, but right now they only had a blue gem, everything else at a halt until they had more.

And that, unfortunately, would take much longer now, due to a recent hound attack.

Neither of them had died thankfully, chasing off the hulking beasts and their jagged maws, but the other man had suffered an injury, a bite that scrapped bone on his right lower leg. Spider glands and silk could only do so much; the only thing either of them could do now was wait, Maxwell taking to sleeping in the tent and Wilson staying up to keep watch, taking naps throughout the day.

There was movement to his side and Wilson turned his gaze from the fire, careful to not disturb Winnie as she rested.

The rabbit daemon eyed him, nose twitching and ears swerving to listen, before he limped over, keeping weight off of one front paw as he circled the fire. He didn't talk; Wilson didn't even know if the daemon could. At least, not anymore.

The state he had been in on The Throne, along with his owner, had been a horrendous thing to see. And, with the short amount of time Wilson himself had been on that seat, he knew how it had felt, how it had affected Winnie so quickly and so harshly.

While he may have his doubts on the woman who had taken his place, large peacock daemon on her shoulder practically blinding with his albino plumage, Wilson did not want to ever go back there again. The Throne promised power, but it seemed to promise pain tenth fold as well, suffering inflicted upon both daemon and human.

Maxwell's daemon stopped a respectable distance away, turning to face the fire and promptly licking and gnawing at his injured paw, ears still swerving as to listen for any small sound.

His name was William, wasn't it? Wilson thought for a moment, recalling when Maxwell had finally told him. And then promptly felt ashamed, because that whole incident had been quite the accident.

Beefalo were not forgiving creatures, not trusting whatsoever, especially when they were in season. Usually Wilson kept well away from the plains during that time; massive rowdy creatures with the habit of goring made sure he didn't stray too close normally, but the added mooing and calls, as well as the totally normal ways of nature severely put him off. Hearing it was rather terrible enough, since beefalo were gifted with incredibly loud calls, but seeing it in person?

Wilson would rather forget ever stumbling into the territory of breeding cow monstrosities.

But unfortunately they had stumbled their way there, by total accident. Searching for spiders, Maxwell complaining the entire time, about the ground and the trees and underbrush. It was almost as if he had never ventured into a true forest before, though Wilson supposed being stationary on a chair in a dark cavern sort of deadened the senses to nature anyway.

The forest itself had been particularly thick, the trees huge and the totally assured fact that treeguards were probably everywhere keeping him on edge, and when they had practically tripped out onto dry yellowed plains and the blinding sun Wilson hadn't thought that their luck would be running so thinnly. The beefalo had all frozen at their presence in the middle of their herd, having been grazing against the border of prairie and forest.

Maxwell didn't notice them for a moment, all too focused on adjusting his suit and whining about how terrible the forest was and how spiders should be much easier to find than this, but Wilson was ready the moment one of the bulls had put down his head and stamped the ground, horns angled to skewer them both as it snorted at them.

Wilsons “Alright time to go!” was a little high pitched as he shoved Maxwell forward, Winnie safe and silent in his backpack when they started to run. The beefalo bellowed, gave them a few seconds to dash past a few, keeping to the forest border just as they started to charge.

Going into the forest was a terrible idea; for one, tripping over brush wasn't a good thing and for two, angry beefalo could fell a tree without a second thought and he didn't want to risk the forest for a straight grass path that would eventually bore the creatures away from them.

It hadn't been much of a conscious thought, casting a glance back to see Maxwells daemon lagging and then falling back enough to scoop up the rabbit, rushing forward to keep pace with Maxwells longer stride. He also hadn't noticed the man's slight stumble or the fact that the rabbit had frozen in his grip, trembling in utter silence, all too focused on not being gored by a herd of very large and very randy cows.

By the time the damn things had settled back, bellowing and snorting at their retreating backs, both of them were a little winded, though Maxwell seemed a little worse off. Sprinting was more of Wilsons kind of thing, but beefalo always pushed the running part. 

When Maxwell had straightened up, face taunt and voice strained, telling him quite bluntly “You can put William down now.”, Wilson had almost dropped the shaking rabbit, having completely forgotten that he was, indeed, holding someone else's daemon.

Obviously he hadn't dropped him, had carefully set the daemon down, the rabbits ears flat against his head and eyes wide before he slowly hopped over to Maxwell, who promptly picked him up and held him close. Wilson had been incredibly ashamed of the whole incident; sure, he may have helped save the man who had ruined his life and put him in this situation in the first place, but touching another's daemon? Even in that sort of dangerous situation?

It hit him later that Maxwell would have picked up his own daemon if Wilson had just kept running, no time lost due to how he covered more distance than Wilson at a slower rate. Winnie had pushed herself into his lap when the embarrassment threatened to overwhelm him, holding his head and trying to even out his breathing as she trilled comfortingly.

The taboo of touching someone else's daemon was something ingrained into Wilson since he had been a child, something everyone knew and would always know. A daemon was a part of someone, a solid piece of who they were, one being in two bodies, sharing a bond so strong that not even science could fully explain just yet, though it tried.

And he had just scooped up someone's daemon and ran with it.

Obviously away from danger, but Wilson couldn't even imagine what he had done to both Maxwell and William, what it felt like. What would he feel if someone had taken Winnie, just picked her up and ran?

He didn't want to think about it and neither had Winnie apparently, the toad wiggling in his lap and whispering to him that they should focus on other, more important things. The science machine could be upgraded, she said, the machine had a few things to be fixed, the crockpot could be stabilized to prevent the pot from falling over. Focus on the important things.

So Wilson had, and the both of them had ignored the rather large, metaphorical elephant in the room.

Winnie shifted in his lap, tongue darting out of her mouth to lick over one of her eyes, blinking slowly at William, who sniffed the ground and continued to side eye them. His whiskers were long, not to mention the ones over his eyes, patches of silver mixed in with his black fur, hunched near to the fire.

When Wilson had first seen him, in person and not as some stiff illusion that greeted him along with his partner after every gate, the daemon had been a horrifying mess.

Wilson may not know much about rabbits, but William had been in a terrible state on the Throne, nails curled terribly and ragged, patchy fur on an extremely emancipated body, breathing slowly and wheezily. The rabbit looked like he was sick, barely blinking red tinged, watery eyes and frothy mouth, and Maxwell had looked only slightly better, hunched over and as still as death on that spikey shadow seat, alien eyes blinking out from the darkness.

It hadn't taken long for Winnie to start to be affected, lethargic and limp in his lap as the tendrils of shadow tightened painfully around his wrists, keeping him from holding her close. Her skin was drying out, curling her feet in as her belly dried, and he had been worrying himself into a terrible migraine by the time the lady with the peacock stepped out from the darkness.

Winnie shifted in his lap, breaking Wilson out from his thoughts, and she trilled at him, soggy hand slapping at his arm before he lifted his arms to free her. She practically slipped from his lap, hitting the ground with the wet squelch of her belly before turning and staring at Williams still form, his nose twitching as he stared at the fire.

Wilson didn't quite know what she wanted to do, but as she hopped over to the rabbit daemon, soft slaps of her belly on the dirt, he criss crossed his legs under him and sat up straighter, back held up by the tree trunk that was currently being used as a bench for their firepit. 

William leaned back from Winnies advance, ears twitching to almost flatten against his head, but when she did nothing he relaxed, nose and whiskers twitching in the silence.

When they had first met, after that first fight in which the night monster had almost taken them, the daemons own fight broken up by the heady fear of the darkness, Winnie had not been very friendly. William had hopped close, the stilted silence between Maxwell and Wilson tense in the darkness, nose twitching as he stretched out his neck to sniff her warty skin, and Winnie had eyed him darkly, a low gurgle in the back of her throat.

When he had gotten too close, whiskers brushing over her curiously, Winnie had turned to him, puffed up on her toes and her tongue had shot out, smacking the rabbit daemon in the face, which sent him scrambling back to Maxwell's lap.

Wilson had tried not to, but the scene of William poking his head out from the safety of Maxwells arms, nose twitching as Winnie trilled threateningly from her puffed up stance had made him laugh, trying to cover his mouth and hunch forward as he giggled.

He may have been a little hysterical that night, but then again, it didn't take long for Maxwell to start laughing either, both daemons looking at each other as if worried. William had pushed his face into Maxwells, whiskers brushing over his aged face as Winnie clambered onto Wilsons lap and croaked loudly, slapping her hands onto his chest and standing to look up at him.

Maybe the both of them had been a little hysterical that night, but both daemons had been wrapped up in embraces and everyone had calmed down, the tense atmosphere easing away little by little. 

After a moment, William staring at Winnie and Winnie staring at William, some sort of agreement was made, a truce. Wilson almost asked, feeling the question bubble up in his throat, but then William moved, brushing against the toad daemon as he hobbled over to Wilson. Winnie turned slowly, watching carefully from her spot in front of the fire, and Wilson stared at the rabbit as he stopped next to him, sniffing the ground vaguely for a moment.

When William actually looked at him, tilting his head up and blinking, Wilson did not expect the sudden hop he made, right into his lap.

Wilson froze, staring as the black rabbit sniffed at his shirt and wobbled for balance on his legs, turning for a moment before settling. He glanced over to Winnie, the toad looking unperturbed with the whole situation, and he still had his arms raised, unwilling to touch the daemon in his lap but not knowing how to get him off either.

Winnie gurgled, tongue flicking over one eye, and she burbled to Wilson, looking as relaxed as ever.

“He's cold.” 

She shifted, settled into the dirt with her back to the fire, and Wilson looked down at William, who had closed his eyes, nose and whiskers twitching all the while.

For a few moments it was still, silent besides the fire, and Wilson's heart hammered in his chest because he didn't quite know what he was to do when someone else's daemon put themselves into his lap and did not move. After a moment he swallowed the lump in his throat and addressed the rabbit, trying to not feel too uncomfortable talking to a daemon who never responded.

“Err, William, would it be alright if you, uh, found somewhere else to sit? The fire is warmer than, uh, me.” Wilson glanced behind him, towards the tent that the rabbits partner was currently in. “And I'm sure Maxwell is even better than the fire. Or me, by extension.”

William didn't respond, as Wilson expected, and his eyes were open if only a little, nose still twitching as a moment passed. Then the rabbit daemon flopped onto his side, back pressing against Wilson's stomach, fur glossy and soft looking in the firelight, legs stretching before relaxing on Wilson's lap. His eyes were closed and the rabbit's chest rose in a deep breath before shuddering out, breathing slow and evenly, completely ignoring Wilsons words.

Wilson glanced over to Winnie, but she had her eyes closed, ignoring him too.

Well, this was just great.

He had someone else's stubborn daemon on his lap and his own was not helping whatsoever. What was he supposed to do?

Wilson bit his lower lip, thinking carefully. Winnie had said William was cold. Alright, then sitting by the fire would be a better place than where he was now. Hell, going into the tent and cuddling with Maxwell was a better option by far!

...That sure was an odd thought.

Wilson hunched his shoulders, placing his palms against the dirt under him and ignoring the rabbit daemon that was practically limp on his lap. He stared at the fire, ignoring Winnie as well. She was being of no help.

Time slowly crept forward, the rabbit asleep in his lap, stretched out and taking slow, deep breaths. Sometimes his ear twitched, a paw spreading his toes and relaxing back, and Wilson found himself wondering exactly how soft William was.

Regular rabbits here were not all that soft, more coarse fur that felt sort of greasy, but William sure looked soft and clean, fur smooth looking in the firelight. Wilson frowned, forehead creasing with worry, but as more time passed he relaxed, the firelight and darkness of night lulling him into a light doze.

The rabbit blinked awake suddenly, nose twitching before he sneezed, a short yip of noise that startled Wilson awake and made him jolt, hands up in surprise, eyes darting around looking for a threat that may have crept out from the darkness. All he could see was Winnie, who had crawled her way over to Wilson, leaning her warty side against his leg and relaxing. He pat her on the head, blinking his eyes a few times and yawning, stretching his back before leaning back onto the fallen tree trunk. The fire crackled just as strongly as ever, saplings burning steadily, and for a moment Wilson relaxed, closing his eyes.

And then realized that the daemon in his lap had shifted, the tickle of whiskers against his inner arm.

Wilson froze, and then looked down at the rabbit slowly.

William sniffed, nose wiggling as he stretched his neck, before his ears twitched and he bumped his head forward, pressing the top of his head against Wilson's arm.

Winnie gurgled beside him, shifting her position before settling, and Wilson cursed the utter uselessness of his own daemon when it came to other daemons. She never was helpful when other daemons got a little overbearing around him, only acting when they started to tumble her around.

William rubbed the side of his face against his arm, stopping to lean against him and close his eyes, nose still twitching as Wilson started to breath again.

Alright, so what was he supposed to do when someone's daemon touched him first?

Wilson had no idea.

The rabbit lay stretched out on his lap, fur pushed against his arm, and he could now confirm that yes, William was indeed very soft.

Wilson glanced around, feeling more nervous than he's ever been, and after a moment he came to a conclusion.

He stopped patting Winnie and instead, very carefully and slowly, placed his hand on the rabbit daemons back.

William sighed, but did nothing else, eyes closed and nose twitching and he breathed slowly.

Yep, William was incredibly soft.

***


	4. Gem Chronicles

Wilson had found the amulet, out of everything else stuffed into his “grandfather's” decrepit little cabin, to probably be the most valuable. Pearls were usually pretty small things, but this inset gem could barely fit into the palm of his hand, and the lavender hue had to play a part in value as well, right?

The man was no gemologist, nor geologist or anything to do with dirt and rocks really, but the fact the gem was set into what was probably a gold chain had to mean something to its worth. And, out of all this garbage and personal, worn possessions, it was one of the few things he could look at and believe he’d be able to pawn off.

His “grandfather” wasn't really his, but somehow the old man had remembered him all those years ago and apparently having no living family left meant whipping up a will directed to some random stranger passed in the street.

More like university, but Wilson didn't want to think about that anymore. He was sure the old man would have been disappointed had he known Wilson had been disgraced and kicked out quite early on.

But instead he died two months ago, the official letters had only just now reached him, and Wilson was apparently the proud owner of some shack set deep in the mountains, miles away from town and filled with useless knick knacks and various more expensive looking bits and pieces.

The amulet in his hands was not the only valuable thing here; some exotic animal skeletons were set up in seemingly random corners of the house and a lot of the furniture had a look of quality to it, but much of this was notebooks and papers, odd rocks and woods and old, dented metals. 

Most of the writing seemed scribbly, off putting in a madman's tongue, and the more comprehensive words just seemed to detail rocks, sites, of odd places in the world and ancient “machinations” of some sort. It seemed fairy tale esc for the most part, and Wilson had pursed his lips, scratched his head as he sorted through them, wondering if perhaps the old man had been an author, trying to write a book about space and the earth and the very dirt itself.

Not much plotline, and he really couldn't wrap his mind around what he was reading. Wilson has never really been all that interested in such things as fantasy ancient culture and the building blocks of imaginary history anyway. Hell, the history of _now_ was still a mystery to him, especially so far out here. The sciences had called him far more forcefully, and he had heeded the call, no matter the circumstances.

It had almost led him to homelessness, but the chance meeting gave him golden luck, even at the cost of an old life, which had apparently already been going down that path. It was already odd enough, to know he hardly had even known the man.

If this chain was actual gold, he might have gotten luckier than he had ever thought imaginable. And the gem itself…

Wilson leaned back in the absolutely massive plush armchair that sat in the living room of the old house, not quite gaudy but almost corny in its red and gold lace. The old man had a certain taste, what with the taxidermied animals and rocks in glass cases, large rugs and the fact the cabin was mostly wooden besides its brick chimney. It was certainly jarring, moving off from light bulbs and automatic flush toilets to candle fire light and an outhouse out back, but it had to be better than sleeping in the streets.

Certainly better, he thought, turning the amulet over in his hands, squinting in the fires warm light to try and see if any signature had been left anywhere. The value could increase if it came from some credible, rare place.

But there was nothing but smoothed gold, encasing the oval gem itself, and he turned it to have a look at its smooth surface.

“...A few knicks and scratches.” Wilson rubbed a thumb over it, noting the slightest of indents, pale lined, almost cracks but not quite, and the fact that the gem itself wasn't quite as lustrous and pure as he had thought. “A bit pale, too. Why did he even keep it around?”

The fire crackled in answer, but he ignored it, scowl set on his face as he analyzed the glow of pale almost white under the surface. The gem itself had a lot of minor blemishes, flaws, and he wondered if it had such things before being set or afterwards. 

In all honesty, he thought it looked gaudy and cheap. The gold was shaped too thickly, heavy, chain screaming all sorts of “look at me and my expensiveness!” vibes. Wilson himself wouldn't be caught dead with the damn thing on in public, that was for sure.

And just the one purple gem, nothing more, no extra bits. Minimalism, but almost sloppy, lazy. Why _did_ the old man even have this thing?

Perhaps it was a gift, Wilson tried to reason, heaving a sigh and letting the amulet rest in his lap.

“...Who would buy this…?” 

Maybe he just had to keep looking around, try to find something that looked a bit more authentic. This thing was probably a no go.

A valuable no go, what with the gold, but not nearly as much as he wished it to be.

Oh well, he decided, leaning back in the chair. He idly ran his fingers over the gem itself, feeling the faint traces of wear over its once smooth surface, and wondered how vibrantly purple it had once been. He'll have to go back to digging around. The attic still hadn't been fully explored, and that could be a good start.

For now, until he got a sizeable pile of pieces sorted out, he'd just hold onto the thing. 

Once, when he had been young and silly, he had believed that there had been a hidden, unexplored way to create gold out of lead. That he was the one that would find it, that one day his name would be the one on everyone's lips, that his life's work would never be forgotten. 

Fat lot of good that sort of thinking got him, but Wilson still fiddled with the gold chain, held the amulet close. Perhaps, if it didn't fetch a good price, he'd keep it.

Melt the gold down, take out the gem if it stayed undamaged, use it all in his work if he so desired.

What work he had left, but Wilson didn't dwell on that, closing his eyes as he listened to the fire crackle and hum. The gold would be useful, no matter what. The gem, not so much.

Perhaps a paper weight, he idly thought. There sure was a lot of paper in this house, and it looked heavy enough to perhaps be useful. 

Yes, that was a good idea. Use the gold for experiments and the gem as a paper weight, and get more money from the things in the attic. A perfect plan, for a genius such as himself.

Wilson heaved out a tired sigh, letting his hand lay over the gem, palm growing cold at its stark, dead temperature.

Hopefully his luck held out.

***

“Ho there, Wilson!” 

The small man actually jumped, startled from the trunk of his car as he swung around, and Woodie raised his hand in greeting, smiling as he walked over.

The sun still spoke of early morning, but the dew was gone from the leaves and all that was left was a cold chill, the first warning to coming winter. It was clear enough, no fog today, and Woodie eyed the man's absolutely packed car, odd bits and bobs, rugs and brown paper packaging, all stuffed into both the front and the trunk.

To the packers eye, it was probably organized. To Woodies, it looked like a mess of a hoarding problem.

“Oh, hello Woodie.”

Wilson was his name, and being the newcomer to town was now his game.

But the gas station and campers lodging was on the outskirts, and Woodie has seen more than enough new people to not be fazed. People were people, even if they seemed particularly odd.

He's never met anyone so short before, and the odd, gelled up hairstyle sure was a weird choice, but to him Wilson was a local customer now, and a neighbor.

A far away one, but Woodie's gas station was the closest building to the other man's home, so if anything happened he was the one to be ready.

After all, he had been the first one to find out old Warbucks had kicked the bucket all those months ago. The eccentric old man had been fun to talk to, if a bit delusionally offensive, and Woodie had always wondered if he had been a tad bit lonely out there on his own, but he guessed that it didn't matter anymore.

Finding him long passed, surrounded by his lifetime collection, had been a fear Woodie had for the longest while, but it was all over and done with now.

The cemetery was Warbucks resting place, and that building out there was now being owned by a strange little man who no one has ever met before nor heard of. Kind of an unheard of thing, to happen around these parts. The whole town was all about the gossip about it, but Woodie took it in stride, as always.

He did his job, talked to good people, had a laugh and shared lunch every once in awhile, and life was good enough. And talking to Wilson, being a good neighbor, helped pass the time.

“Looks like you're going on a trip or something, what with all that.” Woodie gestured to the packed trunk, almost bulging with items. “Leavin’ already? I'd of thought that old place was worth more.”

“Oh no, no, no!” The short man answered a bit quickly, raising his hands and shaking his head vigorously. “I'm just doing a bit of clean up, nothing that drastic mind you! Moving into a new place already set with furniture can make it take longer than usual.”

“The old man left behind quite the collection, didn’ he?” Woodie spotted badly wrapped bones, stuffed next to a wooden chest of some sort and boxes, cardboard and stacked terribly. “There has to be something that can fetch a good price in there, yeah?”

“I would hope so.” The other man sighed, and Woodie glanced over to him to see the seemingly natural scowl set on his face, turned to a tight frown. “This isn't even half of what I've found, and the house is still cluttered. If I had known it was a hoarding situation I was moving into…”

“Warbucks had traveled the world in his youth, so whatever's in there should be worth your effort.” Woodie paused a moment, thinking. “He ever tell you about that?”

It couldn't be said that he himself wasn't curious; the old man hadn't ever had visitors, nor family show up, and a stranger being his entire will was a bit odd.

“Yes, a bit when I had time to talk.” The look on Wilson's face was confirmation enough; once Warbucks had started talking, it was almost impossible to get him to stop. The vague cringe of memory that Wilson looked to be having probably meant he's been caught in a story or two at some point. “But I had never thought he'd have _kept_ everything. If it wasn't so organized the house might have become unsafe with the piles of things I've found.”

“He didn't seem like a messy fellow, just a bit eccentric.”

“More than that, I think. When I had first met him he seemed more…” Wilson waved his hands about, as if looking for the right word. “Professional, I think, compared to what I've found in the house. I think he might have been trying to write a book, though I never took him for an author of some sort.”

“Yeah.” Woodie scratched his chin, nodding his head. “Liked to tell me I'd be reading his autobiography some day.”

“That's...too bad, then.” 

A silence fell then, a bit awkward, and after a moment Woodie shook off the thoughts of the recent death and straightened up with a huff.

“Well, I gotta get back to work. You need a fill up or somethin’?”

The short man shook his head, downcast and looking somber.

“No, no. I was just stopping to check that I had everything.” That seemed to remind him of something, and Wilson patted his pockets for a moment before taking something out to show him. “By the way, would you buy this if you could?”

Woodie squinted, looked at the sorta big necklace in mans hands curiously. It was golden, shoddy looking almost, as if hand crafted but with little skill, and the gem inset in it was a pale lavender, not very shiny or lustrous compared to others he's seen. 

If it wasn't so big, he'd have thought it was a pearl, but the size was kind of hard to believe to have come from a clam. Perhaps it was artificial.

“Nah, not really.”

Wilson let out a sigh, turning the gem towards himself, rubbing his fingers over its surface for a moment.

“I thought as much. Do you know if it has value or anything? I'm thinking of selling it, but if no one buys I'll use it for something else.”

“Looks handmade to me. Look.” Woodie held out his hand, waited for Wilson to hand it over before showing him the chains links. “See how none of these are quite the same size or shape? And the gem is encased disportianantly, not much care in making everything balanced. I'd say it doesn't have much quality unless looked at from a distance.”

He shrugged, gave back the necklace as Wilson looked it over, deep in thought. “It's probably just for a costume or something, not really for something formal or anything.”

“I guess I'll have to figure out something else for it then. Is this even real gold?”

Woodie held out his hands, shaking his head. “Sorry bud, can't tell ya that. I'm only familiar with the crafting side of things, and my materials are wood products, not metals.”

“Well, thank you either way, Woodie.” The short man flashed him a simple smile, still looking as if he was thinking of other things. “I'll get going then.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Wilson turned back to his car, and Woodie was about to head off before realizing something.

“Hey, uh, you need any help with that?”

The short man stilled a moment, blinking in mild surprise and looking as if he was about to ignore him before heaving a sigh, shoulders dropping.

“...Yes, actually.”

Woodie walked over, raised a hand, and shut the trunk of the car in one swoop.

Wilson could've probably done it, he had to have done it before to drive the car out here, but Woodie didn't want to just leave the man to it when he could help out. Being short had its disadvantages, he guessed, and one of them was making an absolute fool of oneself when trying to shut a car's trunk door.

It did make him wonder why Wilson had bought a big car in the first place, but it really wasn't any of his business.

“...Thanks.”

“It's no problem. Take care, then.” Woodie had to stop himself from sounding condescending; bringing up what was probably embarrassing wouldn't help anything, and Wilson did sound vaguely uncomfortable, so he left it as that.

With a last wave, the other man hastily attempting to not look as if he was rushing but failing a bit, Woodie watched as Wilson drove off, car packed with odd, eccentric possessions.

He scratched his head, heaving a sigh and taking a deep breath of the chill morning air. He hadn't been lying about having work to do today; though people didn't stop here all that often to buy from the mart, there still were campers in the lodge, out in the park.

The talking was the nice part of the job, but there was more to it then that.

Woodie sighed, turning away to walk towards the pond and the tents scatter about it. Someone had complained about a dog wandering around last night, and odd noises. He didn't think it was anything dangerous, but coyotes and the rare wolf sometimes wandered in from the forest. The possibility of it being anything big like a bear was fairly low, and he whistled as he went, wondering why nobody ever read the signs and rules set in place for camping here.

Dogs had to stay on leashes, and the owner had to be with them at all times. This far out and it was dangerous to wander in the dark, especially for some domesticated Chihuahua or poodle or mutt of some sort.

The towns superstitions and rumors, myths and stories aside, Woodie has seen enough to know how dangerous the forest can really get out here.

***

With a heavy, tired out sigh, Wilson finally put the car into park, twisted the keys and turned the vehicle off, and then slumped back into his seat.

For all the good it gave him, at least the car was emptied again. The stacks of cash in his pockets were thinner than he wished, but at least it was _something._

That pawn shop in town sure was shifty, and he felt as if he's been suckered into giving up valuable pieces for way less than they actually were, but the assurance of actual money in his pockets still set him at ease more than anything else.

He had assured the shopkeeper, an old woman with sharp, sharp eyes and stacks of old books surrounding her, looking every bit as annoyed as he suspected someone trying to read a book and constantly getting interrupted would look, that he still was cleaning out the house and that he would be back soon enough with more. She had been shrewd, if the slightest rude even, but her interest had been piqued the instant he had shown her the old, nameless tomes he had found, pouring over the possibly Latin, perhaps something more foreign, lettering with an almost feverish focus. 

The folders of papers, documents both comprehensible and gibberish, hadn't been received with as much zeal, but she had taken them anyway, handing wads of cash to him and citing her own personal interest as a reason.

Apparently, the old man had been an interesting, eccentric point of talk to the town, and his death was being met with solemn regard. The old woman hadn't told him much, but what she did say shed a bit of light.

He'd have never taken old Warbucks to believe in _aliens_ of all things, especially since he had seemed so logical, if a bit rambly when Wilson had talked to him all those years back. Even the items in his house didn't seem to point towards something so far fetched; there was astrology books and maps of stars, but nothing as superstitious and crazed as _aliens._

It was an odd thing to learn of, that was for sure.

After a moment of sitting, making a half hearted attempt to decompress from the sheer discomfort of having to talk to that woman and her very judging eyes, Wilson suddenly remembered something and dug out the amulet still set in his pocket.

He had thought about selling it to her, asking if it was worth more than it looked, but…

Something had stopped him.

The owner had been flipping through the pages of one of the old books, glasses sliding down her sharp nose, and he had put his hand into his pocket to pull the amulet out, just about ready to start talking, and then…

Well, it was silly to think of now. Wilson took a look at the gem, in its minor scratches and the dim of it, the fact that it _had_ to be a pearl but was just so big, it must have been from some far away place to arrive here, in the hands of an old explorer and historian. 

At the shop, for a brief moment, he swore he had felt the thing do, do _something_ , when he had brushed his fingertips over it. He didn't know what he felt, but it was the strangest of things, and the only word he could use to describe the experience was that the gem itself had _strained_.

Not quite movement, or heat, but just… _struggling_. 

The amulet in his hands did nothing now, not even when he hesitantly put his palm on top of the gem itself, and after a moment of silence and staring Wilson heaved a sigh, shaking his head in exasperation.

“It's just stress, isn't it?” 

The gem didn't answer, and he most certainly didn't expect it to.

“Here I am, all alone out here, in a strange new environment, and I take to talking to inanimate objects for the hell of it because that's what people do in these sorts of situations.” Wilson rolled his eyes as he got out of the car, amulet still in hand as he slipped the keys into his pocket, and he stood for a moment and took a deep, steadying breath of the fresh mountain air, looked up at the dusk darkened sky.

“...Maybe I should think of getting a dog or something.”

Wilson had no clue on how to take care of any animal besides himself, but the thought of having something more intelligent than taxidermied animal corpses and a cheap amulet around did seem like a good idea.

He had far too strong of a mind to go nuts out here, Wilson was very sure of that, but solitude and silence must be having an adverse effect on him either way, so he needed to fix the issue before it could get worse.

He eyed the amulet in his hand, its odd lavender gemstone, remembered the way that feeling had stopped him, how almost _desperate_ it had felt, and then rolled his eyes and stuffed it into his pocket, muttering under his breath as he walked to the houses front door.

“I won't let this get to me that easily. It's just a silly necklace, and I'll sell it next time.”

***

“-so I asked him, I asked him right to his face, ‘You even have a place ya want to bugger me off to?’"

Willow absolutely cackled, slapping her hand on the counter and laughing up a storm, and her customer gave her a wobbly smile in answer before gingerly nudging his purchased items towards her. She shook her head, snorting as a few more giggles escaped her, but the other man's attitude was getting to her.

"Aw, c'mon Wes, it was funny! He had a lousy truck and everything, but I just lost him at the bar and took off back home." When that didn't invite anything but another half hearted smile, Willow narrowed her eyes and paused in ringing up his stuff. "Hey, what's up with you? You're actin' a bit off."

Wes looked away, tapped his chin in thought, and then gave her a more apologetic look, raising his hands to sign.

_'Just a bit distracted.'_

"...Must be a big distraction." Willow muttered, crossing her arms on the counter and loosely holding the scanner in one hand, and she gave the man a searching look. "You doing okay, huh? I know things are kinda shaky right now, but-"

Wes shook his head, raised his hands in a flat out stop to her, and the guy didn't frown often so it more looked as if he was just deeply uncomfortable.

_'It's fine, don't worry about it.'_ Wes grimaced at her disbelieving look, struggled to come up with something, and then suddenly happened upon an idea. _'I'm just worried about a...friend of mine.'_

"Friend, huh?" Willow went back to scanning the stuff, idly noting the household cleaners, scrubbers, and some plant food and sprays. Weird. "Someone come into town when I'm not lookin'?"

Before she could press him more, the bell at the front of the store went off, a warning jingle just as there was a bunch of huffing and the stomping of feet on the rug. Willow looked over before a smile spread across her face, raising a hand in a wave to the newcomer.

"Yo, Woodie! What're you doing out here this late…" She trailed off, and even Wes looked a hint concerned as the burly man heaved a great sigh, rubbing his face and looking frazzled. "Hey, boss man, you alright? You're not looking all that great."

The fact that man looked as if he'd been plowed over, and then rolled in the dirt for a bit, sort of was making Willow concerned. Not everyday the big guy looked as if he got into a fight.

Wes had an even more concerned frown on his face, tilting his head to try and catch the other man's eye, but Woodie seemed to have pulled himself back together.

"Had a run in with somethin', that's all." He blew out a big breath, hands on his hips and with leaves stuck in his hair and beard. "I'm gonna put up a notice tomorrow, warnin' to watch out for some of the wildlife around these parts. People are riling them up a bit lately."

"Oh shit." Willow actually looked a bit shocked, leaning over the counter a good bit as Wes looked between the two of them with anxious worry and concern plain on his face. "You didn't get hurt, did ya?"

"Naw, I'm fine." Woodie waved off her worry, plucking a few of the stray leaves in his beard off and giving them a squinted look. "Nothin' much around that a bit of yelling and jumping up and down won't scare off is all."

"Hmph." The woman rocked back behind the counter, pout on her crooked lips and eyebrows still pinched in that oddly worried, deep thought look. "It won't get too close to town, right? I don't wanna get chewed out by the old witch for letting her cat out and then findin' it half eaten on the side of the road."

Her words didn't seem to lighten the mood any and Woodie shook his head with a huff, starting to make his way to the backrooms of the building and scooting his way past Wes with a polite " 'scuse me" before answering Willow.

"Nothing the rangers won't take care of, so you shouldn't be seeing anything in the middle of town. Better keep an eye on Wickerbottom's kitty though; she might kick you out again if you're not careful, Willow, and I only have so much space available."

"Yeah yeah, I got it, don't let that sneaky bastard dart past me in the doorway, got it." Willow seemed to ease back to her previous mood, focus back on packing up Wes's purchase and then ringing him up with the little ditty tune that played through the computers gritty speakers. "10.95, Wes, and I think you got near 50 point saved up now. You gonna use them anytime soon?"

The man gave her a half smile, a shake of his head that turned into a shrug, only a side glance to see Woodie open a side door and leave without so much as a goodbye, and Willow seemed to catch that as well, frown tugging on her crooked face.

"...well, guess that's a good enough warning ta be careful wandering the roads by myself then." She turned a hard look to Wes, eyebrows knitted up and biting her lower lip a moment as she waited for him to pay up in cash, just the slightest look in counting before stuffing it away in the register. "You be careful too, alright? All alone in that dumb studio of yours, if you need any help you know my number, k?"

Wes nodded along, tapping his foot and trying to not appear impatient, though Willow did not notice and handed over his bags, still looking off put and worried.

"An' you know Woodie and Wickerbottoms number, right? Those guys'll probably be more helpful than me if something happens, but just know we're around if trouble comes up." She got back into that position she had been in when Wes had first walked his way in, hand on her cheek and leaning heavy on the counter as she heaved a sigh. "Cause it's getting odd around here lately, I can feel it. You?"

He nodded again, for the umpteenth time, carefully holding the supplies close and making sure to not drop any as he scooted his way to the door, nervous smile on his face and then finally a little half wave.

Willow returned it, sliding frown and distracted gaze, a last few words exchanged between the two of them.

"Yeah, you be careful out there. Stuff's gettin' weird again."

With that Wes pushed open the door with his back, turned and listened to the jingle of the bell and the low humming buzz of fluorescent lights, finally hissing out a tense sigh as his shoulders sagged.

Willow was not wrong, not in the slightest.

He put himself back together, beelined to his car, the route back home, and the thing that he had now hidden and living in his closet.

Hopefully all this stuff was to WX78's liking.

They could be so picky sometimes.

***


	5. Don't hug gems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vague Maxwil snippet that the previous story might have led up to.
> 
> Idk, crossovers can go a bit wacky at random points.

Wilson wasn't pacing, but he certainly felt like he should be.

The...thing? Not human, not at all, but whatever it was! It was-

Shaking again. Huddled up against the wall, next to the cabinet, and looking so very lost. Was it the wide, pale eyes that made him feel sympathetic, or the fact that it was so tall and thin and seeing it curled up and trembling in such a desperate way?

“Hey, uh. You alright?” 

It actually flinched from him, and it had no pupils but he felt its gaze dig into him, its sharp face turn to lock upon him, and Wilson swallowed thickly, feeling that nervous energy creep up on him.

He's never been good with people, with normal, good social interaction. And, apparently, he was just as bad when talking to a damn _alien_ of all things.

“It's cold.” 

The answer was short, sharp, voice lilting and shivering in a way so inhuman that it almost sparked his flight or fight response, tensing up, but its gaze tore away and it shuddered even more violently, normally blank face flashing and grimacing and curling into something that almost looked as if it was just about to start sobbing. Wilson stood still for a moment, watched as it tugged on the cloak about its shoulders, narrow thin, long fingers carding through the fur collar, huddling even more as it trembled and shook.

The cloak wasn't his, but he didn't know if it actually belonged to the being or not. It had wandered the house a bit, searching, before snatching up the dusty thing draped over a sheeted chair and remarking that the old clothing actually belonged to it.

Whether or not that was true didn't stop that the cloak did actually match. It's lavender hued skin seemed to pair well with the darker black blue, almost pastel mixed with the sharp outline of nighttime and the salt pepper fur collar.

After a moment of silence, chewing on his lower lip and trying to figure out what he should do, watching the being shudder and cling to its cloak, Wilson was still having trouble with making a decision. This was still foreign territory, especially with an extraterrestrial creature, and one with amnesia no less.

And then he heard it sob, a cough that shook its shoulders as it wheezed, pale eyes sliding closed and snarling a frown as it whimpered to itself, turned away from him and curling up as small and tight as it possibly could, long limbs making it look uncomfortable and disproportionate.

There was suffering in there, he heard it, Wilson wasn't that oblivious, and he hardly realized what he was doing until he was already off, hurrying to the living room to snatch up a forgotten comforter.

The being was silent, didn't acknowledge him in the slightest, seemed more focused on covering its mouth and ignoring the tears staining its narrow face, and Wilson just cleared his throat for a simple indication of his presence before throwing up the blanket and sliding down next to the being, tucking the bundles of fabric about the both of them.

“What...what are you doing.” Its voice was flat, empty, tugged something in his chest when it turned its pale eyes upon him, blinking even as more of its tears fell, crawled down its sharp chin and fell upon the blanket he was trying to adjust.

“From where I'm from, if you're cold, you get more blankets.” Wilson paused a moment, considering. “Or sit in front of a fireplace, but I don't think that's an option right now.”

“Blankets…” It said quietly, a mumble as its long, bony fingers picked at the comforters colorful design, the blue and red and greens. “I...I am not meant to get cold. It has never bothered me before…”

Its voice turned mournful, as if the words meant something different, important, to it, and when Wilson glanced over he watched in morbid fascination as its expression crumbled, more tears falling from its pale, almost sightless looking eyes, the slightest sniffle, and it trembled even more, looking as if it was just about to fall apart.

“I, I don't fe-feel the cold, I was never designed to, I'm not, I'm not _supposed_ to, I must be, I must be-” Its next words were warbled, watery and half sobbed, too hard to comprehend, and Wilson was left in shock as it suddenly put its head into its hands and started to sob.

He sat stunned, listened as it tried to quiet itself, a watery wail before fading into a whisper of sound, and after a moment he finally was able to shake himself out of it.

This ethereal creature beside him was not in the best of health, and the fact that it was crying, so forcefully and pained, breaking down into choked, grief stricken sounds, meant that whatever had happened to have it be here must have been traumatic, probably more so than he could imagine.

The creature had been stuck in what had to be stasis for years now, trapped in that gold amulet he had found those months ago, but from what he's heard it had _known_ of that time, had been _aware_ of the empty darkness it was confined to, and he still didn't know how long exactly it has been since it had been ensnared but it must have been for a long, long time.

“My, my Apatite, my poor Apatite, she must be worried sick, so sick, and how will I, how can I ever find her, like this?” The creature wailed into its hands, and Wilson floundered in confusion, feeling just as lost and a bit queasy, before hesitantly reaching out and laying his hand on its bony shoulder, hoping he wasn't overstepping any boundaries. “I can't, I can't, it's too late, she'd have, she has to, she would have to-”

It shuddered in a breath, wheezed and raw, and its voice pitched sharp and angry and wrong, distorted.

“She'll replace me! I'm, I'm flawed, I'm cracked!”

For a moment it almost seemed stunned at its outburst, raising its head to stare at nothing, blankly, before slowly turning its gaze towards him.

Wilson stared back, and had no idea of what to say.

Its eyes flashed, pale and light hued, shiny, and the gem inset on its throat gleamed for only a moment, catching the light, dimmed and worn. 

He could see the nicks, the scratches, the round, pale white glowing in the inner depths, and the large, splintering crack easing its way through the stone itself.

That one had been his fault, he thought guilty. When he had been taking the stone out of the amulets base, trying not to ruin either object, it had slipped from his tools and cracked against the floor with a loud thud, a smattering of shattered bits dusted away from the damage. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, a bit saddened at the mistake but not much else.

He hadn't known it was a living, sentient being. And he still hasn't told it that he was to blame for the damage either. He had thought that what it didn't know wouldn't end up hurting it.

But now it looked like he was very wrong.

“She, she wouldn't want me back anyway, would she?”

Was it asking him this, or just speaking to itself? Wilson didn't have the faintest clue.

But it's pale eyes were still turned towards him and he still had a hand on its shoulder, so he inhaled a bit noisily, trying to steady himself, and gave it a long, hard look.

“I'm, uh, sure Apatite doesn't feel that way, not at all.” He searched for the words, tried to think of something, anything, as the being stared at him, almost straight through him. “In fact, she's probably searching for you right now, worried sick even! If she cares for you so much, then she wouldn't just abandon you, now would she?”

Wilson had no idea on who this “Apatite” was, nor her temperament or if she was a good, uh, _thing_ or not, but she obviously meant a lot to the pale being sitting beside him.

Its face remained blank for a few moments more, long enough for him to start wondering on if he had said the wrong thing, but then it wobbled, dipping from a smile to a frown and then wiggling into something hopeless and lost, tears still streaming from its eyes, clear and just as lavender hued as its skin.

“You, you know nothing, human.” It hiccuped another sob, quiet like, shaking its head even as its expression wiggled and broke even more, looking away. “I, I am as easily replaceable as you are. My dear Apatite is not coming for me.”

Silence fell on them once more, and it still shivered, trembled next to him, and it hadn't shrugged off his hand yet but Wilson carefully pulled away, watched as more tears fell from its pale, empty eyes, a final, small frown settling on its face.

He didn't know what to say.

But he had to say something.

“Well, I mean…” He cleared his throat, stringing the words together in his head to a semblance of an idea, and it only just barely twitched, eyes flashing as it tilted its head ever so slightly towards him, showing it was even listening. “We can both be replaceable together then?”

It sounded weak, and weird and maybe offensive, and he grimaced at his choice of words. Never been good at this social thing, has he?

The silence stretched, long, almost nerve wracking before a sharp noise was coughed out of the being.

It did it again, bowing its head, and it took a moment for Wilson to realize that it was _laughing_. It cackled, high pitched and jarring, then lower and scattered, and its eyes were squinted shut and its tears seemed to have stopped for the most part as it raised a narrow hand to its face and wiped at its eyes, turning its head to look upon him.

“I, I find you amusing, I think. What a dreadful thing to have happened.” It hiccuped again, covered its mouth as a smattering of giggles escaped it, shaking its head with pale, mournful eyes. “Cohorting with the lower sentient life, I have disgraced myself far more than I had ever thought possible.”

Wilson decided to try and think of the silver lining for this, ignoring the jab at his obviously high intelligence.

“At least you're not dead?”

That gave the being pause, a thoughtful look falling on its face, and it sent alarm bells ringing through Wilson's head and he quickly tried to think of a distraction.

“Look, are you cold or not?”

It turned to eye him, and yes, he could still feel it shivering, shaking ever so slightly. He watched as it glanced down, fiddled with the comforters fabric, pressing with its hands and twisting with its fingers, before locking gazes with him once more.

“I believe you will need more blankets.”

Wilson decided to not tell it that he didn't really have much more than this, and instead did something a little more bold and stupid.

He leaned forward, its pale eyes watching him with that curiously blank look, and wrapped his arms about its curled up form, finding an easy way to curl about its narrow thin torso.

It immediately stiffened up, still, but didn't make a move of any sort as he shuffled himself close, forehead pressed to its bony shoulder.

“What, do I dare ask, are you even doing?”

“This helps with heating up as well.” Its piercing gaze made him stutter, but he continued. “It's, uh, what my people do when they are cold.”

He didn't tell it that most normal people don't do that sort of thing with strangers, instead leaving that part out.

This was more for science than anything else, he told himself; Wilson had to make sure all of his documents and research papers were extremely well done before he could expose the evidence of such a being to the world! And that included what the creature felt like, and how it reacted to touch.

For a long few minutes it didn't do anything, and Wilson chalked it up as a success and hurriedly tried to analyze what, exactly, was going on.

It wasn't warm, that was for sure, but it wasn't cold either. A bit cool, but not chill, and it's odd clothing…

Seemed to be a part of it? He was being very, very careful, just letting his hands lay with only the hint of firmness around its torso, so he didn't have much opportunity to actually do a full on observation, but he still didn't know how dangerous the being could get.

He didn't need to overstep any boundaries, not yet anyway. Later, when he and a focused team of scientists were cutting it open, would he finally have all the time in the world.

His thought tangent ran for a bit longer, rambling into words to help describe the feeling of hugging the foreign creature, before it suddenly moved.

Its shifting was slow, not quite alarming, and Wilson was about to speak before he felt arms wrap about him in turn, pull him in close. It tucked its head down, chin poking him before he felt its cheek brush against the side of his face, and its long limbs uncurled and shuffled as it carefully made sure the blanket stayed on top of the both of them.

Wilson was starting to feel the smatters of anxiety and panic bubble up, heart picking up speed, before the being finally settled, letting out an exhale of a low hum.

He had his eyes open the whole time, and he felt tense, uncomfortable, pulled up almost chest to chest with the beings face pressed close against his head, its long arms wrapped about him and legs pulled up, slowly entwining with his own. The wall and cabinet was supporting its back, and after a moment it wheezed out another laugh, grip tightening about him.

“I can almost imagine it's Apatite I hold in my arms, human.” It hummed, and one of its hands was rubbing his back, possibly feeling his tense, nervous fear. “Don't move, pal.”

The odd use of an almost affectionate nickname just made him all the more fearful, and Wilson inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself down.

This was a stupid idea. This creature was still otherworldly, it could kill him without an ounce of regret, and he had just overstepped a line and caused it to react in a way he hadn't expected.

If he wasn't careful, _he_ may be the one to end up on a dissecting table in the end.

But it didn't do anything else, only its hand moving, exploring the notches of his spine and pressing a bit harshly between his shoulder blades, letting off when he sucked in a tense breath of air. Other than that, it held him close, and nothing else.

And, Wilson realized after awhile, his breathing returning to mostly normal, body finally easing as nothing threatened him, the being itself wasn't shaking anymore. Its thin, uneven breaths rose up against him, and he could feel its sharp nose pressed to his head, in his mess of hair, but that was all it did.

Perhaps, all that it wanted.

For the sake of science, knowledge, and making sure he didn't end up losing his life anytime soon, Wilson decided to stay put and endure. It will let go of him at some point.

Right?


	6. WoWie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I will say there was a bit of debate on whether Wilson was a gnome or goblin.

The air here was rank, a sickness that clung to the clouds, was belched up from the dark enclaves more to the east, and the plague ridden lands were a place Wilson had never, ever wanted to end up at. Back then, some odd years ago when things were still far, far away, nothing could have convinced him that traveling to the front lines was in the least bit of his interest.

But then his studies got involved and very suddenly Wilson P. Higgsbury found himself having no choice in the matter. The Scourge had grown too much to be seen as far, far away, not anymore.

At least he wasn't exactly in front lines, right?

Wilson curled his nose, keeping his mouth shut tight, a vain attempt to not have to smell the foul air more than he already did, and the plague cauldrons may be miles away and the effects were diluted with distance but that did not mean he wanted to have to breath it in so much. He's heard stories, that the smell induced vomiting when right at the source, that it could turn those too close with only a few breaths, heavily guarded by monstrosities and abominations.

Well, that part did interest him a little. The creation of such things was a science in of itself, of course it was, and the urge to tinker and gain knowledge over such a power was a strong temptation, but any undead taken captive were killed pretty quickly, and none of them had any higher brain functions.

Oh, what he would do to have a Forsaken available! Those, apparently, were not even Scourge, not any longer anyhow, had been taken into the fold of the Horde, but not a single one of them has been seen near where he was now for awhile.

Tristfall wasn't too far from here, but perhaps those undead were being clever, keeping out of sight. Wilson had a constant hankering into wanting to know just how they worked, the function of rotten insides and shriveled organ meats. Frankly, if anyone asked him, it was fascinating! 

Not many people asked him though.

Today, however, his mind was a little more preoccupied with other matters than autopsying the sentient undead. For a few moments early morning one of those plague spewing castles, those massive floating fortresses, had been seen gliding its way over the hills, right over the mountains, heading south. It had bypassed them, but the sickly trail it had left behind did not quite give the feeling of them getting off the encounter scot free.

This little village still had a few civilians, stubborn gits not willing to leave their homeland, not even under pain of forceful undeath and servitude to the terrible Lich King, and now the militia Wilson has been with for a little less than a month now was organizing itself, sending scouts, gearing up for what they hoped was not a first wave.

Normally, Wilson would be quite panicked at this knowledge. If this had been happening even a day ago he'd be searching frantically through his notes, hurrying to get his own armor into place, getting everything set and ready. His role of apothecary assistant and field medic was a bit of an important one.

But right now he had more pressing matters.

Darting past people, soldiers and civilians alike, ignoring the odd looks shot to him, Wilson hurried back to his little set up of a place.

He had taken one of the abandoned houses, one with a cellar in particular, and at that time it had been extremely useful for the growing of mushroom rations and the little herbalism skill he had, a bit of alchemy to boot. His engineering, while on the background for this war, was still important enough that he had already strewn the inside of the cottage with gears and half made ideas, and while none of them had helped just yet he at least was making progress with the immunity potions and emergency sedatives.

The war may not have need for his inventions yet, but once he worked out the kinks he'd be hailed as a hero! Just have to figure out why they all kept exploding…

But even that was not what was on the forefront of his mind today.

The basket at his side, covered by linen and held close, was rather important and he had to get it to his cellar. And, as Wilson dashed around a hustle of soldiers marching in line, the calls of the commanders and the scoffs of civilians watching along, he would have to get there quickly.

He was almost there, hugging the basket close, when his focus was distracted for a singular moment by the trumpets, the shouts and yells of moral boosting the rest of this rabble were doing. Normally he'd shake his head, curse the noise even, perhaps secretly rally with them, because they were fighting the undead here and every single one of them knew what may happen if they should fall in battle. It was something none of them look forward to, and he knew, of course, that getting everyone's spirits up with some boosting words may just distract from the reality of the situation. Even his own worries would haunt him at times, kept him up and tinkering when he should be resting, but at this exact moment he was very much on edge.

Which was why he fumbled on the uneven road, tripped up, and smacked right into another person.

"Oi, watch where ya going-"

The snarl leveled his way cut short, a low, deep sound that still sent shivers up his spine, and Wilson looked up and almost expected to see a hairy, monstrous visage to be staring back at him.

But instead it was vague surprise, and then a polite cough, a shallow sneeze that Wilson has figured out by now to actually mean something, and the worgen easily bent down and lifted him up back to his feet.

"Eh, sorry there Wilson. Though it was somebody else."

It wasn't a canine form that greeted him, though the man's eyes shone bright and sharp enough to not hide the fact, but apparently there was no need just yet in transforming.

Back on his feet now, Wilson ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath to calm himself and feeling extremely rushed.

"It's-it's alright, Woodie, I hadn't watched where I was putting my feet." For a moment he smoothed out a few wrinkles in his garbe, adjusted his vest and shook himself, falling always seemed to do a number to his presentation, before he realized he wasn't holding what he had previously been carrying. "Oh, oh dear-"

"This yours then, eh?" Woodie held up the basket, hanging in his hands, and Wilson was hurriedly grabbing for it, mind racing as his thoughts got back on track, gritting his teeth as the stress of it all found his shoulders once more. 

The worgen thankfully just gave it, and him, an odd look, handing it back but curling his lip as he did so.

"Smells kinda funny there, buddy. What sort of experiment are you doing this time?"

"It's, uh, it's nothing, really, a bit of curiosity is all!" Wilson's voice pitched, nervous, and the worgen narrowed his eyes for a moment, the faint visage of knowing what he looked like in his true form just sending goosebumps up and down Wilson's back, tightening his grasp on his package and trying his best to configure something akin to a comforting smile on his face. "Nothing to worry about whatsoever!"

To a worgen, it seemed more like a grimace than anything else, one stinking of lies. But, they knew each other, at least a bit, and Woodie was not one to stoop low enough to suspect his friends. The gnome before him was just a bit overexcited, especially when it came to experiments, and that was all.

So Woodie heaved an internal sigh, shook his head with a much more comforting smile on his face, and clapped the small man on the back, with enough restraint as to not knock him over of course.

"Whatever you say, eh. Just don't be blowing up anything, gonna be needing you real soon if this is as bad as everyone is making it out to be."

That, for the moment, cut through Wilsons very pressing issues that needed his attention, and he looked up at the worgen, a serious expression falling on his face, drifting into the scowl that was more befitting of the gnome. 

"Is it, then? It only looked like it was passing through."

"Aye, dropping off as they go. Word was sent ahead, they're being tracked, but we're the ones who'll have to clean up what was left behind." Woodie huffed, turning his gaze off to the mountains, the sickly low glow of the air in this place. "From what everyone's sayin', we're in for a bumpy ride."

Wilson chewed on that information for a moment, the flutter of panic building in him, threatening, before he squashed it down and shoved it away. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

But, that did not mean he could skip his duties.

"I'll be getting ready then, just need to, uh, finish this." He indicated to the basket in his hands, frowning at it before shaking his head to address the man before him. "It's a bit time sensitive, but afterwards I shall join you and the rest of them."

Woodie scratched his chin, not denying the fact that he was curious but knowing the coming fight was more important, and then nodded, took a step back to allow the gnome passage forward.

"Might want to be hurrying up then Wilson. We'll be marching in less than half the hour."

Wilson nodded vigorously, already racing forward, already shoving that whole situation to the side, for his future self to deal with instead. Right now, getting back to his place was much more important.

Woodie watched the gnome dash off, basket held close, and he growled out a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning away. That fellow always had so much on his mind, always had something that needed to be doing, and apparently even an upcoming fight with an army of undead wouldn't stop him.

Woodie had to hand it to him on that front, at the very least. But, with the sickly green smog that was rising to the clouds, the ghastly taste in the air, the worst was to come.

***

The instant he had pushed open the basement door the rattling of chains greeted him. And the cold down here, billowing a pale fog, that made him hesitate too.

But then Wilson heaved in a breath and steeled himself, held the basket firmly, and hopped down the steps as unhurriedly as he possibly could. The armor on his back wasn't as well fitting as it should have been, but good armor fitters were hard to come by, even harder for a gnome, and even with all his adjustments there were still tweaks he needed to hammer out. It wouldn't stop any amalgamation of horrid sewn together parts from smashing him to pieces, but it could stop any random arrows and a sword swing or two, and the fact that he wasn't a warrior made sure he'd not be seeing that too often. The lighter build should also help his flexibility; tending to injuries larger than himself required one to be rather dexterous.

Having flung together the set on the moment he had entered his temporary housing, Wilson at least knew he'd be able to rush out immediately when he was done with the issue he had in his home.

More like under, and also caged in. The rattling of those chains at least told him there was life still down here.

...Well, more like unlife. Or undeath? 

The lantern at the table was dim, and Wilson set the basket down, lit up the chamber a bit more with some fiddling. The fog still held heavy, but at least he could now see.

Glowing eyes watched him, shrouded over by that hood, and the stare sent a shiver up his spine as he looked upon what he had captured.

Not really Scourge, and not Forsaken either. Something new, and unfortunately just as deadly.

He could see teeth, fangs peeking from the hood, but the other characteristics of the undead were already jotted down in one of his many notebooks, hidden away down here; he didn't need anyone else to know about this just yet.

They'd take it away if they did! Wilson was a gnome of science, of logic and knowledge and understanding, and as if he'd just give up the piece he's finally gotten from this damn war! If the Alliance wasn't willing to set him up with his own lab or at the very least accept him as a scientist then he'd do it his own way. 

Even if it meant him being at the warfront, and now illegally restraining an unknown, foriegn undead under the floorboards of his house. Not the place he had wanted to end up, really!

Still, it was the best he had at the moment. If he was going to risk his life out here, he should at least get some research to take away from it all. And, Wilson was sure, if the top people of the Alliance found out what he was doing they'd strip him of everything he's ever worked towards and then take away what was his discovery! 

Those long ears twitched whenever he took a step, angled like any elf ears would, and it certainly was tall, if it stood straight. At the moment, chained down to its knees and arms, those wicked claws restrained, it was almost at his own height. So far Wilson had written down that it must be an elf, but he wasn't quite sure just yet which one. Undeath sort of tinged, rotted the skin, but this wasn't like a normal zombie.

It was still whole, almost perfectly normal, besides that dreadful chill and the glowing eyes, and the faintest of crystal clear smell, of the dead. 

To the side, set well away from it, were the weapons. Swords, the glowing sickly aura of magic, undeath and yet mana, and the tables they sat upon had a thin crust of ice to them, crystals and shards forming about the metal weaponry. He didn't dare to touch them bare handed just yet, not until he figured out how to handle them without losing fingers to frostbite.

"Down here just to stare at me, pal?"

The low hissing rumble, certainly not reminiscent of the undead, something far more echoed, deep and elegant, smooth, it was still accompanied by the flash of those fangs, the glow of its eyes narrowing, and from here Wilson could see it flexing its claws, talons scratching vainly at the metal of its thick cuffs.

"N-no." Taking another breath, and he had goosebumps rising up and down his arms but Wilson schooled himself, face falling into a hard scowl. "I will be gone for awhile, so this is just a quick check up."

And with that he was up, grabbing a few instruments as he walked up to the undeads captured form, ignoring the feeling of its eyes upon him, following his every step. It didn't move as he adjusted his gloves, black ones all the way up to his elbow, and there was only the hint of a twitch as he started to examine it over for anything new.

Most undead started to decay after rising, and even Forsaken were known to lose bits and pieces of themselves. He may not have ever been as up and close as most scarred warriors, but Wilson has seen the aftermath before, as well as the mercy killing of any leftover wandering undead. Even the passive ones, completely safe to be around, were pitiful things to behold, and most of the people he worked with did not spare any. 

He couldn't quite call Woodie his friend just yet, but he already knew that the worgen had a very rough time of the Scourge. Something to do with a lost loved one, but he didn't pry on that information. Wilson was too polite for that sort of inconsideration.

But, he convinced himself that the undead were different.

"Do you want to tell me where you came from? Or perhaps why you ended up here?"

"Already back to the questions I see." The undead hardly seemed to care as he examined its long ears, only its claws showing any form of resistance, scraping impatiently at the chains and the bars keeping it in place. Wilson had made extra sure it wouldn't escape; the creature could hardly move an inch! 

"What are you, then? Are there more of you?" Wilson listened to its silence, scowl hardening as his thoughts turned, and he switched his attention to its hands, moving the chains a bit to examine its wrists. There were already signs of entrapment on it, scars about its limbs and neck, but he didn't quite know if that was before or after it became an undead. "Are you dangerous, in any way, to the Alliance?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." It sneered at him, the echo of its layered voice rattling in his ears, and Wilson gave it a hard, searching look. Nothing in those glowing pale eyes stood out, and not for the first time Wilson wondered if it was a puppet for a more dangerous foe.

Still, nothing new today. It didn't look damaged, not in any new way, and was the same as yesterday. And the day before, and the day before. 

He turned away from it, back to the table with the basket, and it was unfortunate but he'll have to wait to do anymore experimenting. Storing the basket and its fragile supplies away, doing a cursory sweep over the mushroom planters, and the few growths that had somehow sprouted up in the corners of the room instead of in their respective beds, Wilson pulled off his gloves to lay to the side. He'll get some new ones upstairs; the undead were host to who knows how many parasites and diseases, and he'd not wear these into battle where he was the medical aid.

"Off in a hurry, are you?"

Its voice slithered, punctuated by the way it was looking at him, narrow eyes focused. Reminded him of the predators from other, more dangerous regions, and Wilson grit his jaw and attempted to unsuccessfully hide his shiver.

That seemed to please it, by the way it tilted its head, restricted as it was, and too many of those teeth shone at the grin it gave him from under its hood.

"Looks as if you and the rest of the fools up there are in for some trouble. It's already thick in the air; can't you smell it?"

"It's none of your business." Wilson spoke sharply, firm; one had to be careful with this sort of thing. No matter what he did with himself, he did not want to hurt anyone. While he may have been admittedly a bit rough handed when he had first came into contact with this particular specimen, he has since done his best to not damage it in any way. Injuries on the dead do not heal well, after all. "And, if you are worried, don't be. Nothing will get down here."

"Oh, I'm not at all worried, pal." Its predatory grin seemed to widen, hissing in air, wheezing ever so slightly as it seemed to strain against its chains before relaxing back a moment later. "I'd say I'm the last person you should be worrying yourself about."

The choice of wording gave Wilson pause, having dimmed the lantern a fair bit to save its light, standing by the foot of the stairs.

"...what do you mean by that?"

The undead elf just smirked, and even so clad in those rags, worn down and ripped apart, the cloak the only thing that looked even barely salvageable, even tied down with layers of thick, magically enhanced chains, it gave off the very air of foreboding.

Its silence held no answer, only a feeling of mockery, and with that Wilson huffed irritably, hiding away his own anxiety now. Even with his own research being so important, he couldn't ever let it get to his head. He had to be reasonable, after all, and his duties outside of this were just as important.

...well, they were supposed to be anyway. People's lives at stake and all that, though he was sure he could help even more people if he was just left to himself and his equipment. If wishes were fishes, as they say.

He gave the undead one last glance, a hard scowl to its confident smirk, bowed down by chains as it was, before hopping up the stairs and setting his mind back into the growing emergency at hand. 

No time to be interrogating an experiment; an army of the undead was soon to approach.

***


	7. The not so good Constant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was never going anywhere, but it was hilarious to think about.

Willow blinked open her eyes.

The wall in front of her was chalky white and, in blazingly neon green letters, were the words:

**_Welcome!  
Everything is fine._ **

She blinked, hands in her lap and everything calm, and was momentarily rather confused.

And then the door to her left clicked open, the shuffle of feet, and a man with the most round looking glasses she's ever seen poked his head out and gave her a somewhat nervous smile.

"Hello, Willow." He stepped out, hands clasped, a rigid, outlandishly formal lavender suit on, and gave her a more pleasant, even smile this time. "My name is William. Do come in." 

He seemed pleasant enough, and Willow only stared blankly at him for a second longer before she stood up and followed his little wave, ushering her into the next room.

For once in her life, Willow was feeling remarkably calm about all this.

The feeling, however, ended the moment she sat down and this William fellow gave her a very serious look over his glasses, hands clasped atop his desk.

"You, Willow, are dead."

Willow blinked, vaguely comprehended this, and then fully understood it a moment later.

"I'm what?"

"Deceased, I'm afraid." William himself did not look particularly bothered by this. He flipped open the folder currently occupying the desk, carefully examining the pages as he turned them about, and then looked back at her again. "A very unfortunate accident, nasty business, but you needn't worry."

Willow was currently having a bit of trouble with this information, and though he was certainly calm she wasn't.

She fiddled with her hands, scratching at her palms and then her thumbs, and suddenly wondered where her lighter was.

And then her attention was snapped back into focus as the man leaned over his desk, the thump of the folder placed firmly back into place, and he met her gaze with an almost sympathetic look in his eyes. 

"Willow, don't worry; you're in the Good Place."

Willow stared at him, still, and then a nervous, relieved smile crawled up across her face.

"R-really?" 

"Of course you are, my dear!" William leaned back, smiling brightly, and even with his odd get up he was incredibly calming somehow, setting her nerves at ease. "And you very well deserved it too."

She hesitated a moment, processing, and when she spoke this time it was with a hint more confidence, testing the waters.

"So I died, and I'm in...heaven?"

"Well, it isn't quite that really." William shook his head, amused, and leaned back in his chair. "The afterlife is not all that complex, and as such there is the Good Place, and the.."

He made an odd gesture, flipping his hand, and Willow supplemented by vaguely pointing downwards, to the floor her feet were placed firmly upon and implying even lower.

"Yes, there, the Bad Place." Then he clapped his hands, smiling widely at her. "But don't think about it too much; after all, you are here! You've lived one of the best lives you could have lived, and all that hard work paid off."

Willow returned his grin with a rather shaky smile, hands still curled tight together and forced into stillness, no fidgeting or nervous twitches.

She was fine, just like the sign had said. Everything was fine.

Up until William started to list her achievements, an awestriken wonder and obvious admiration rising in his voice, wide eyes round behind his glasses and that ever smile growing wider on his face.

He crowed about her accomplishments, of her starting charities and giving money to the poor and aiding those in need, even going so far as to risk her life in a building fire to save a family of ten children!

Willow smiled and nodded along, absolutely not saying a single word during the whole spiel. 

Cause she's done absolutely none of that horseshit in her entire life, and something has obviously gone real fucking wrong here.

But Willow did not say a single damning thing, smiled and nodded, nodded and smiled, and by God, or whatever the fuck was actually presiding up here and making the biggest mistake in it could ever make, she was in the Good Place and here she will stay.

Cause fuck being sent to the Bad Place.

...or, as she was soon to learn, fork living the rest of her afterlife in the Bad Place, Willow's got into the benching Good Place! Fork yeah!

…...she'll miss the curse words though, that was for sure.


End file.
